She's Kind of Shy for a Sexpot
by JellybeanChiChi
Summary: Sara's downstairs neighbor's views on her relationship with some guy named Gil Grissom. GSR all the way. Little language. But no smut. Just, you know, teases


A/N: I'm rusty. I apologize in advance. Basically this is a story that was generated for one particular line in the story. Thought of the line, had to write a story around it. Kudos if you can guess the line. I do hope this story is somewhat funny.

Disclaimer: I own nothing about GSR.

Many thanks to my lovely beta, Dame Chauncey, aka MSCSIFANGSR, aka Drabblester Extraordinaire. Thank you dear on your support of this train wreck. And she did so in the midst of writing her own awesome story. Check it out when she posts.

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I really had started to hate my upstairs neighbor.

It didn't start like that. I mean, the first time we became aware of each other (we're apartment neighbors – you become "aware" of their presence before you get to know them, if you even do at all). Anyway, we became aware of each other when I switched to working evenings at my job. I worked from home or I went to offices during their closed hours to service programming, hardware and software needs.

So one day, I was dragging my tired ass home after a 16-hour shift and there she was dragging her tired ass home after God knows how many hours and we started commiserating in the elevator.

"Hey. What floor?" She asked in a deep voice before letting out a yawn.

"Ah, shit," I replied, too tired to think about anything except taking off my tight damn bra. I felt myself yawning too. "I live in 308. Third floor."

She chuckled at me. I think she understood that sleep-deprived confusion on an intimate level. "No kidding. I live in 408."

"Well, hey neighbor." I introduced myself and put out my hand.

She shook my hand firmly. "Sara Sidle. You work nights too?"

So we gave each other a condensed, cliff note versions of our existences and wished each other well. Her job as a CSI seemed to complement her tough, no-nonsense exterior. And I was sure my rumbled clothes, bloodshot eyes and personal aroma of stale coffee, Altoids and Diet Pepsi spoke volumes about my lackluster job.

Nice woman. We're about the same age. So what's with the hate? I'm getting there.

I quickly learned she had a shitty computer and she could curse like a sailor. I was sitting in the dining/living room enjoying a bowl of Berry, Berry Kix (Shut up! It was a rough shift!). Anyway, I was eating my Kix and I heard, "OH GODDAMN IT! NOT AGAIN!" Then I heard an old-fashioned "Bang! Bang! Bang!" on an outer computer casing (it's a no-brainer sound to me — trick of the trade) and loud stomps to the sliding glass door directly above my own.

So I went to my patio and shouted out, "Sara? Need a little computer help?"

"Well," she said, in a very sarcastic tone, "I either get help or I take my service weapon to it."

Intense women with guns are scary. I had no idea if she'd do it or not. She'd been listening to a lot of angsty music lately. "Why don't I take a look?"

Then I saw her peek her head over the side railing. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just been…. Ugghhh… I can't ask you to do that."

"No prob. I'll come up."

When she opened the door, I presented by handy dandy repair kit in one hand and a spare pack of smokes in the other. "You seem tense. You're welcome to a couple."

Sara snorted and led me to the computer. It truly was a piece of shit, but salvageable. I simply got to work and was done a couple of hours later.

And yes, she did go outside for a smoke.

The next day I found a basket of teas and hot chocolate mixes at my door with a thank-you note that read, "This isn't from a freak, so don't think it's poisoned or anything. And I don't usually smoke. Thanks for the computer fix. – SS." My first thought was, _Someone needs to quell her intensity_, but then I stopped myself. It was a nice gesture.

So everything was cool between me and 408. Thanks to our thin ceilings, I learned she had an eclectic taste in music, and she liked to listen in her living room, bedroom, even the bathroom. No big whoop. I enjoyed brushing my teeth to Feist.

She didn't talk on the phone much and not too many visitors. Seemed like a work, home, work again, kind of girl. I could relate. I'm that kind of girl, too. No big whoop.

Then one day I'm nestled all snug as a bug in my bed when I heard a series of rhythmic thuds and scrapes like furniture was being moved around.

I woke up startled. I tend to be a light sleeper scared shitless of things that go "thud" in the night (or in this case, early afternoon).

Well, when I got my bearings I realized what was really happening upstairs: Sara had some company and by the sound of it, a little male companionship, if you know what I mean.

And I could envision it in my mind.

See, when I fixed her computer I went to the little girl's room, and I spied in her bedroom for a sec. Yeah, yeah. I'm nosy. Fucking sue me for being Curious George.

She had a four-post, queen bed with a black aluminum frame. Unlike my carpeted bedroom, she had a hardwood floor. I thought, _Kudos for her for putting the bed together without scratching the floor._ She even had little rubber pads secured on the post foots. Very responsible renter.

Well, when I heard the banging upstairs I could just imagine the rocking and a rolling that four-post bed was doing along that hardwood floor. The creaking… God that unmistakable sound of the creaking.

And then… THEN… I have to hear the litany of porn sounds coming from both Sara and her … Monkey Sex Man lover.

I mean, honestly, she had to be faking it the way she was screaming. It was freaking mesmorizing … I couldn't move. I mean this is the woman who sang, "Hmmm Bop" during her shower a week before. (Oh, she could deny knowing a song by Hanson, but she sang it and I had it in my head for days). And now she was moaning and groaning like she was auditioning for a role in the remake of "9 1/2 Weeks."

And this went on for hours. That's a big whoop! Very big whoop here!

Now when your upstairs neighbor has incredible sex like that, you think, "You go girl! Make him 'Take You to the Limit One More Time!'" (I told you, she listens to a lot of different music.)

But it's a whole other story when your upstairs neighbor has incredible sex over and over and over and over for several months. And apparently, she did so all over her small apartment. One afternoon, I was in the kitchen making nachos and I hear, "Ahhh! Ahhh! OH YES!"

_OK! I'll put on some more sour cream._

Another time, I was switching through the channels and found this Law and Order episode. I was to watch the show, and what did I hear? "OH! OH! OHHHHHHH SARA!"

Sigh. Sigh. Click. Click. _Oh look. Barney_.

Fortunately it didn't happen everyday. I'm guessing that Monkey Sex Man must have had a really cool tire swing at his place. I knew they hadn't broken up because after a few days and sometimes weeks away, the bedroom sounds would echo once more.

And it was bad one afternoon. Now, I'm not prude, and I've made a few noises in the sack myself, but COME ON! And that particular day I was working from home and been up for 36 hours straight. You know how hard it is to evaluate hundreds of lines of code trying to find that one fatal error and you're interrupted with "Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm," along with a noise similar to when you stir canned peaches in your cottage cheese.

I'd had it. I was really starting to hate my upstairs neighbor. I paced around my living room in my ratty t-shirt and pajama bottoms, had a drink, then went to back to the bedroom. Apparently Monkey Sex time was over.

I went to the bathroom to grab a couple of Tylenols, and upstairs I heard a hairdryer on for a second and then turned off. Then I heard someone else upstairs — someone peeing… as if from a distance.

I've heard the man chuckle. I've heard the man in throes of passion. I've heard him cum. And now I've heard him pee.

I had to know what Monkey Sex Man looked like.

It was 1 p.m., and whenever I heard the hairdryer during that part of the day, I knew that Sara was getting dressed up and leaving. So this was my chance. If she blew dry her hair that generally meant she would be wearing heels, which meant she'd be taking the elevator.

And there was a good chance Monkey Sex Man would be in the elevator with her.

I went to my front door just in time to hear her door shut upstairs. I frantically grabbed my keys and sprinted to push the elevator down button before I missed my chance.

The elevator's ding sounded the moment of truth. The doors opened and I saw Sara kissing a man whose hand covered her clothed breast.

They noticed me standing there and he quickly pulled his hand away. _Oh, please,_ I thought, _I have heard so much worse._

He was not at all what I imagined him to look like. I thought tall, taunt, dark-haired that swayed in the wind. A real flexible guy.

But there he was. A middle-aged guy a bit older than Sara with a middle-aged build. And behind his gray-speckled beard were rosy cheeks from being caught copping an innocent feel.

While he looked flushed, Sara looked at me like I was crazy. "You OK? Are you going out?"

That's when I realized how I must have looked — ratty pajamas, no bra, no shoes and my hair hadn't been brushed in almost two days. "Oh, I was going to run to the store for…." I sneezed. Perfect. "Cough medicine. Battling a cold."

Sara pushed the door open button. "Oh, that's sucks." Then she looked at loverboy. "This is my downstairs neighbor."

He smiled. "Oh, you fixed Sara's dinosaur. Congratulations on convincing her to buy a laptop."

"Yeah," OK, now I'm really uncomfortable. This guy was nice. He's supposed to be. … I don't know… sticky. "Yeah. Sara we still on for next week?"

"Absolutely," she said showing that gap in her teeth as she smiled. "Listen I got plenty of medicine upstairs. Why don't I get it for you."

"Oh, no. Don't do that."

"Hon," said Monkey Sex Man in a very kind voice. "You're going to be late for court."

_To testify about my mind-blowing loving. _I know. Evil thought.

"Why don't you go ahead," he continued. "And I'll got get the medicine and bring it back downstairs. I have to go up anyway. I forgot my..."

_Copy of "A Porn Queen's Guide to the Female Orgasm?"_

"… glasses."

"OK," Sara said as she let go of the door open button. The doors immediately started to close and I heard her say, "I'll see you later, …"

I went back to my place and felt a little guilty. But then I thought about Sara. She seemed like someone who deserved a nice guy. And what a bonus that he apparently had an amazing schlong.

I went to put on a bra and change my shirt and then I heard my door bell. I looked in the peek hole and there was Monkey Sex Man shuffling his feet. This guy was precious.

"Hello again," I said as I opened the door.

He handed me a paper sack. "Hi. Here's some generic NyQuil and Robitussin. I didn't know if you had Tylenol…"

"Oh, no. I actually just took some," I said. _You should know. You were practically there._ I looked in the bag. There was two boxes of vegetable-flavored Cup O' Noodles. "Did you bring me soup?"

"Yeah. I brought those for Sara a few weeks ago when she wasn't feeling well. These were leftover."

_Dammit! You're supposed to be sticky not thoughtful!_ "That is really nice of you," I said with a smile. "Please tell Sara I said thanks," I added a throaty cough, you know for realism. "And thanks for bringing it over… um."

"Gil Grissom."

_I know your name, and I believe it's pronounced, "OH GOD GIIIILLLLLLLLL," but to me you will always be Monkey Sex Man._

I didn't say that. But I was giggling when I said, "Thank you, Gil Grissom."

He nodded and left, and I closed the door.

So, I guess I don't really hate my neighbor. And about six months later, Sara knocked on my door. "Hey. I just wanted you to know I'm moving out."

"Oh yeah? What's up?" And I giggled. _I bet I know what's up._ Sorry had to be said... in my head.

"They don't allow dogs here and Gil and I got a boxer…"

"Well, good for you. He seems like a nice guy."

"He is," Sara said. You know, she's kind of shy for a sexpot. "Just wanted to say thanks for all the computer help."

"No prob. I'll miss you."

Sara was taken back. I knew what she was thinking. It was not like we hung out. But thanks to our thin ceilings, not all about Sara Sidle was a mystery to me.

"Take care Sara."

"You too."

And so Sara left to be with Monkey Sex Man. I moved away from Vegas not long after that. I hope they're still together. A part of me wonders if they parted ways with Sin City to have wild monkey sex in the jungle.

Ha ha. Yeah, right. Me and my imagination.

THE END

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. Reviews appreciated.


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